


Coming Into Your Own

by hamstercheese7



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Depression, Difficult Beginnings, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Guilt, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Series, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25066891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamstercheese7/pseuds/hamstercheese7
Summary: It has been five years since Ohara, and Kuzan has lost all sense of his purpose for living until a young marine with white hair and a temper is assigned as his new second-in-command.Set pre-series, slow burn, slow build.
Relationships: Aokiji | Kuzan/Smoker
Comments: 31
Kudos: 34





	1. New Recruit

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is the first chapter in a roughly 15 chapter fic. I'm hoping to update at least once a month. I've had the idea for a Smoker and Kuzan meeting and falling in love for a while now. Well, let's get to it!

This far out, the darkness seemed all consuming. All encompassing. But it wasn’t. After a little under a half hour, his eyes adjusted. The night sky going from deep black, spotted with a few tiny lights, to a full spectrum of billions, all spread out high above. They reflected off the surface gently undulating below him, making it seem like he was walking in a vortex of light. 

Kuzan looked down at the thin barrier of ice he’d created under his feet. It was all that stood between him and the great void. How easy it would be to just break the ice and sink. Here in the darkness, he could just slip away. After all, what would it matter? The world would go on without him. Pirates would continue pillaging, the Navy would continue resisting them, and the World Government would make them all dance to their tune, none the wiser. 

Or maybe they made the World Government react and spin, and in turn they reacted and spun, like the heavenly bodies. Around and around. Forever stuck in a waltz.

He snorted and lifted his bottle of Jerez to his lips, but nothing came out of it. Empty. Damn. He blinked at the man-made object in his hand, the stars glinting off of it making it seem of them and not of his own messy world, then sighed.

With that, Kuzan turned around and began walking back towards the shore, leaving the dark mass of the ocean behind him, the lights of G-9 glaring out, beckoning him forward. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he would be in time for last call at the nearest bar.

Walking on solid ground was jarring, he decided as he made his way through the cobbled streets of Magnus, heading for the Line, the unspoken border between Magnus and Vensai. The best place for a bar with good alcohol to be situated. Run down enough to be ignored by uppity shitheads, but just upscale enough to have decent security preventing desperate fucks from robbing it. 

Of course the Line was right near the Keide Bridge, and his favorite bar, The Haze, sat just on the Vensai side of the bridge, short and squat between a tattoo place and a bodega. He could see the familiar red lanterns, their light reflecting off the damp cobblestones, turning the road a bloody color. 

Good, still open then. 

It was as he reached the end of the bridge that the door was flung open and four guys walked out. Kuzan raised an eyebrow. Their postures were not the slouch and lean of men drunk enough to piss off their wives when they got home, but instead were stiff and hostile. 

A brawl. A young guy a few feet shorter than himself with a shock of white hair was facing off against the three others. His fists were up in a way that told Kuzan that he was no stranger to fights, his center of gravity balanced over his knees. The other three were a mess, probably used to their numbers and size making people back off. Slowly, Kuzan came to a halt across the street, watching the boys face off with vague interest. They were blocking the entrance to the bar, but he figured that they would move away in a few minutes, and if not...well he could always make them move. 

The white haired guy glared at his opponents as they circled him. The largest guy, heavy on top from too many beers moved first, lunging at Whitey, who dodged, kicking the idiot in the ass and sending him sprawling. The other two came in then, one for a tackle, the other aiming a punch at Whitey’s face. A slow grin spread across Kuzan’s face as Whitey sidestepped, letting the one trying to punch him get tackled by his friend. 

By this point, the first guy was back on his feet and the fight continued, Kuzan watching patiently. It was obvious that Whitey was the better fighter, his opponents too pissed to figure out that they were going to lose. 

Although...Kuzan's years of experience made him watch the smallest one. There was a malicious glint to his beady eyes, something about the way he moved that marked him as the leader of the three, and also as the most cunning. 

Kuzan watched Whitey throw the biggest guy into his buddy, the leader moving out of the way. No, not cunning. Underhanded. Kuzan's eyes narrowed as Beady Eyes made his move while Whitey's back was turned. 

Out came the switchblade, glinting in the bloody lamp light. Whitey whipped around at the sound of Beady's rush towards him, his eyes widening as he went to block him, but he was expecting a punch, not a knife. 

And that's when Kuzan stepped in. He'd seen the knife tucked into Whitey's boot. He could have made quick work of his opponents, but he was being honorable by only making it a fight with his fists. And Beady violated that.

Just before the blade could connect with Whitey's forearm, Kuzan grabbed Beady by the shoulder and flung him across the street and into the wall of the building on the other side with a sickening thud, knocking him unconscious. His two companions stared at their boss, their eyes darting to look at Kuzan, then turned and fled down the street. 

Kuzan yawned and placed his hand on the door handle. He'd finally be able to get the drink he came here for. Thunk. He looked down, a hand pressed against the door, holding it shut. Kuzan followed the hand back to its owner, Whitey. A pair of glaring amber eyes looked up at him, "You gonna cause trouble?" 

Kuzan stared. The idiot had guts, he'd give him that, but seriously, Kuzan just prevented him from getting stabbed and instead of thanking him, was accusing him? 

What a funny guy.

But Kuzan was over this, he just wanted to get a drink and refresh the buzz he was losing. "Look, I just wanna get a drink, before they close," he said tiredly and went to pull the door open. But the idiot got in his face again, his eyes still fierce. “You didn’t answer my question,” he growled. Kuzan gazed at him. If he wanted to guard the bar so bad, then…

In an instant, ice bloomed around Whitey’s feet, sticking him in place. Using the guy’s shock, Kuzan pulled open the door and stepped inside bar, ignoring the guy’s snarl as the door shut behind him.

\---

Smoker sighed as he glared at his new office. The Captain he replaced had been a total slob, and worse, appeared to not have done any paperwork beyond what was necessary for what looked like months. Papers stacked over a foot tall covered the entirety of the desk, with more on the floor. The small couch on the other side of the desk was stained and Smoker could see a few empty bottles of beer peeking out from underneath it. His lips curled in disgust. 

Just what he needed on his first day. This was just the nail in the coffin that confirmed his suspicions however. The island was a fucking mess. He frowned, remembering the night before. The moment after he placed his stuff down in his new quarters, Smoker had left to explore his new posting. The best way to understand a place was to go out and learn it yourself. Reports would only tell him so much. So he’d gone out and walked the streets of the City of Magnus, famous for its booze and great trading port. 

Eventually, he ended up at that bar with those fucking assholes who were bothering the bartender. His eyes narrowed as he recalled the face of the fucker who pulled a knife on him. His eyes narrowed further as he then recalled the much bigger threat that came after that, the tall guy with the ice powers. It had taken him a good hour to get out of that fucking ice, and by that time the bar had closed and the fucker had wandered off out the back door! 

That was a dangerous power user, he’d be sure to report it to his superior… which reminded him. Smoker turned and looked at the clock on the wall. It was past nine in the morning, and yet Smoker was one of the only people in the office. He pursed his lips. He didn’t know much about Vice Admiral Kuzan, but he was thus far not impressed. 

With a sigh, Smoker sat down at the desk and began trying to figure out the reports on his desk.

Smoker groaned as he leaned away from his desk, rubbing his neck. Fuck the man he’d replaced, Captain Nozuki Ericsson. Fucker did not deserve his title. The reports were full of requests from citizens about assorted crimes, in addition to reports on underground and pirate activity. Hina hadn’t been joking when she said the G-9 was a mess.

He opened his eyes, sliding to the clock. Two in the afternoon. He’d been at this for hours. His stomach growled. Smoker took a breath. Fuck it, he needed a break, and he wanted to see who was in the office, he needed someone to attempt to explain to him why things were in such a state before he brutally ripped into them that their excuses were full of shit.

With a frustrated grunt, he got up and left his office. His ire grew as he left his floor, finding it fuller than it was before, but that many of the people he expected to be there were not. The Base Command Unit of the G-9 should not look like it was half staffed! He could feel the stares of the few officers on his back as he passed by them. They didn’t know him yet, but they would. 

It didn’t take him long to find the main Mess Hall. It was in the middle of Base, close to the training grounds, which, Smoker noted as he made his way towards the building, were empty. There should be men running drills out there, or at the very least small groups practicing! What the hell?! How did Vice Admiral Kuzan still hold his rank?! This was utter bullshit! 

As he entered the building, he felt himself reaching new levels of irritation. The place was packed. No way this many soldiers would be scheduled to be on break at this time. His eye twitched. The place looked more like bars he’d been to on shore leave. A group in the back caught his eye. Was that...a betting circle? Were the fucking Marines sitting on their asses drinking and gambling like a bunch of pirates?! 

Like hell. Not on his watch. 

He took a deep breath, letting the air fill him up, before bellowing “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU ALL THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” The hall went silent as all eyes turned on him. The marines (god they didn’t even deserve to be called that right now!) looked at each other and then back at him. A few more seconds passed before one of them, a man with long purple hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail spoke up. “Who the hell are you?!” 

“I’m the Captain of Base Command, Smoker, now I’ll ask you one more time. What. The. Hell. Do. You. Think. You. Are. All. Doing?!” his voice was a deadly hiss, a tic forming on his forehead. There was silence and then one of the men said with a shrug “We don’t work till Vice Admiral Kuzan gets in,” and turned back to his comrades. Smoker stared. What. the. Absolute. Fuck.

He cracked his knuckles. Oh he was going to have a word when he found Vice Admiral Kuzan. 

Smoker sat in Kuzan’s office. It was nearly 4pm, and his “superior” officer had yet to show. He clenched his jaw. It ached from where he’d taken a punch earlier, but he felt that he’d gotten his point across, if the looks on his men’s faces as they rushed out of the Mess Hall and to their proper stations was anything to go by. They hadn’t expected one of their fellows to beat the hell out of them. 

He glared around Kuzan’s office again. It was pretty spare, though in comparison, to his own, there appeared to be very little paperwork anywhere. Maybe Ericsson had left because Kuzan actually overworked him. The beer bottles under the couch in Smoker’s office suddenly took on a different light. His eyes narrowed darkly. 

A sudden sound made him look towards the door. Footsteps. Smoker crossed his arms. So he was going to finally meet the bast-

No.

Standing in the doorway was the Ice Fucker from last night. He was wearing a sloppy jacket and a casual pair of jeans, with boots, and a...was that a sleeping mask on his head?! He looked down at Smoker, then looked back out in the hallway like he was expecting someone to explain Smoker’s presence to him. 

“Uh...Can I help you?” he asked, not even bothering to suppress a yawn. Smoker’s eye twitched. Kuzan walked to his desk and sat down in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk as Smoker got to his feet and approached the desk. Kuzan eyed him, then something like recognition crossed his face. “Wait, have we met before?” Smoker glared at him, eye level now that he was standing and the stupid bastard was sitting. He clenched his jaw and growled, “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s four in the fucking afternoon, and you’re just now showing up here?!” Kuzan stared at him, “Oh shit, are you the guy I went home with last night?” 

What? Smoker stared at him, his mouth dropping open. 

“Ah, look, I was really plastered last night...and I don’t really uh...do mornings. So uh...sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head. Smoker gaped at him before exploding “What?! No! You froze me to the ground outside the bar last night!” Kuzan blinked at him and then started to laugh. Smoker had never felt so irritated at someone that was not a pirate in his entire 20 years of life. 

“Ararara, my bad. In that case,” Kuzan tilted his head at him and in an instant the temperature dropped in the room, literally and figuratively. “What are you doing in my office?” Smoker glared right into Kuzan’s brown eyes. 

“I’m Smoker, your new second-in-command.”


	2. Everyday Feels Like Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuzan struggles with an infuriating new hire, just another goddamn week at the office.

**Friday, Day Five**

The office was blissfully quiet. A tiny, relieved smile uncurled on Kuzan’s face. He looked down at his desk, then flicked his eyes over to the couch across from him. It would be a shame to waste this quiet. He got up from his desk, stretching briefly before walking the few short feet to the couch and dropping onto it, pulling his sleeping mask out of his pocket and placing it gloriously over his eyes. His office wasn’t that bright, just his desk light illuminating the room, but any light at all made sleep nearly impossible for him. 

Kuzan had a complicated relationship with Friday nights. On one hand, all the bars were too damn crowded, and far too noisy, and the prices always seemed to go up. On the other hand, the office was empty. Well. It normally was. It had been last Friday. Tonight, though, there was one other person in the office. And there had been every night this past week. 

Kuzan sighed, placing his hands behind his head. His new second in command was a right pain in his ass. 

Like a video den den mushi was playing behind his eyelids, Kuzan began reviewing his new predicament. 

“Monday, Day One” flashed across his vision, complete with those stupid little squiggles that always seemed to be in the background of den den mushi projections. The morning had begun like many of his others, in that Kuzan had missed it entirely. By the time his eyelids cracked blearily open, it had been close to sundown, late even for him. Not that it mattered. 

_ Wait _ ... Kuzan pursed his lips. Had he still been a bit drunk then? He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to recall. His bedroom hadn’t been spinning, and he hadn’t felt like everything was flowing around him. He had had a minor hangover though, as he recalled the way the setting sun had bothered his eyes on the way to the office.

Right, well, he clearly recalled what occurred next. He’d stepped quietly into his office, and sat down in his chair behind his desk. There were three pieces of paper in his inbox. A heavier load than the last few weeks, but that was fine. He had skimmed them though he only recalled one, a missive about a Noble’s travel ship that would be docking a week from then. 

Kuzan made a mental note to remember that, as he’d forgotten until now. People thought that his resting was a sign of laziness, but they were mistaken. This was how he best came to understand the chaos that flowed around him. 

He tapped his index fingers on his chest. Where had he left off...ah, yes, his peaceful, blissfully clear desk had become a thing of the past. And it had begun with the powerful smell of cigar smoke. Then in walked Whitey, with an enormous stack of papers. He’d stalked right up to Kuzan’s clean desk, and dumped them unceremoniously on top. The stack was thick enough that it made a  _ thud _ as it met the wood. He’d stared at the stack, exhaustion spiking pain in his temples. Vividly, Kuzan recalled measuring the height of the stack, which turned out to be around the size of his fist. Kuzan scrunched up his face. 

Truly. Awful.

By the time he’d recovered from the initial dismay, Whitey had already left his office, only the smell of his cigar left behind. 

But that hadn’t been the worst part. As he’d poked through the stack, he realized that much of it was just local area water traffic reports and staffing requests from the last few months. The truly boring shit. The shit that people pretended mattered but really didn’t. 

Kuzan rolled his eyes at the very thought even now.

So of course he’d done the most sensible thing he could have when faced with that horror. He’d opened his office window and left for the sanctity of the beach. 

**Tuesday, Day Two**

He’d walked onto base and towards the Mess Hall, only to hear an angry voice bellowing by the training grounds. It was so loud, he’d been able to hear it on the other side of the building. He’d gone to check it out, and there was Whitey yelling at a bunch of junior officers, putting them through drills. They all looked miserable. He couldn’t really blame them, it was hot and humid in the middle of the day. Why Whitey was making them run drills in the middle of the day he still didn’t understand...so he’d stepped in, taking pity on his poor men. “Oi, what are you making them do drills right now for? Make them do it in the evening, pirates like the night better anyway…” and then he’d turned around and went back for the Mess Hall. 

This would have been fine except for Whitey later barging into his office in the middle of his nap, smoking up a storm, that he didn’t appreciate Kuzan’s efforts to undermine his authority, and something about there being no drills on the schedule at all, and then...something about being prepared for anything? 

Some real Sakazuki sounding shit. Kuzan frowned, who had assigned him to his base anyway?

He felt a little twinge of guilt at what he did next, it had been a little petty. But in his defense, at that point he’d been running on nearly 24 hours without sleep, and… Kuzan sighed, lifting the eye mask for a moment to focus on the bottle of alcohol sitting on his desk. The fact that he felt relief that it wasn’t empty was a problem. A problem on top of a heap of other problems. 

So in his irritation, he’d formed a wall of ice and shoved Whitey out, blocking the door with yet more ice. 

**Wednesday, Day Three**

The Mess Hall was always lively, and that day it had been no different. Group of idiots playing poker in the corner, a couple other idiots placing bets on the idiots playing poker in the other corner. 

The usual, and his preferred atmosphere. Chill.

He’d sat down at his preferred table in the very back, between the two groups of idiots and started eating. Was it...sandwiches? Whatever, it hadn’t mattered, he’d been able to grab a decent cup of coffee, and that was what he wanted anyway.

Most of the time no one else sat at his preferred table. Well… Ericsson had used to. A small sigh escaped Kuzan’s lips, somehow loud in the quiet of his office. Ericsson had been a good soldier, part of Kuzan’s contingent for over a decade. One of the last that had been with him for so long. 

...Too bad they hadn’t ended on the best terms. The drawn lines under Ericsson's black eyes, the frown on his face as he passed Kuzan his letter of resignation. His parting words still stung. They were the truth, and that was probably why. 

His jaw clenched and he took a deep breath, willing his shoulders to relax again.

Anyway, he’d been taking a sip of coffee, when the Mess quieted for a moment. His eyes flicked to the entrance, and there was Whitey. He’d gone back to drinking his coffee. And then...the idiot had come over to his table and sat across from him. Most of his men tended to understand that when he wanted company, he’d sit with them, when he didn’t he wouldn’t. 

Whitey was not most of his men. 

But he hadn’t said anything. Maybe the guy had also just wanted to eat in peace, at the least crowded table. Or maybe talk poker or something. 

But no.

He sat down with his bowl of ramen (that’s right! It was ramen!) and started to talk to him about the paperwork he’d dumped on Kuzan’s desk. During their lunch break. Work. That was like...a criminal offense. Who does that? And he’d given Whitey one of his most impressive long suffering sighs and said something like “Hey man, I’m on break, can you bring this up to me later?” or maybe it was more like “I’m eating, can you not do this right now?”. Kuzan frowned a little.

Now that he thought about it, it was probably more like “Really? Work on your lunch break? Get a hobby man.” Yeah...that sounded more like him on Wednesday, two days into trying to cut back on the alcohol a little. The guy had given him such a glare, but hadn’t taken the hint. So… 

Kuzan grimaced, a little bit of guilt prickling in his chest. He’d gotten up from the table and made to leave, but Whitey followed him and well...he froze the guy’s hand to the table (and probably froze his food too, he’d gone a little overboard) and walked away. 

And then there was yesterday.

**Thursday, Day Four**

The fire raged, the sound deafening, the terrified sobs of a little girl as her entire life went up in flames and it was his fault all his fault-

Kuzan interlocked his fingers across his chest tightly, his jaw tightening. Even now, the memories of the nightmare that had woken him in the early hours of yesterday morning made him feel sick. Sleep wouldn’t come to him after that, and it shouldn’t. What the fuck did he deserve sleep for? So he’d turned to the best comfort that he could find, the kind that killed your feelings.

His office had become a sort of weird respite. A place with order and things to do. Something to keep him grounded with reality. So he’d gone there with a fresh bottle of Jerez, and proceeded to polish it off at the quiet sanctum of his desk. 

Until his barely held together peace was interrupted yet again.

By his second-in-command. 

Who proceeded to sit in the chair across from Kuzan’s desk, cross his arms and glare. He couldn’t believe how good this guy was at picking bad times to interact with him. None of his other men ever seemed to have this problem. He’d stared at Whitey, waiting for him to explain himself. 

“I need that paperwork,” he’d said, his voice tight with irritation. And he would get it, just not right then, because doing paperwork right then would be a bad idea. In hindsight, maybe he should have tried to explain why doing paperwork right then would have been a bad idea, that the office was sort of swimming around him. 

Instead he was pretty sure he’d said, “And?”

And like every interaction they’d had up to that moment, it went downhill from there. “I’m not leaving until you do it,” he’d growled at him. This little dumbshit had no self preservation instinct. And he really needed a hobby. 

They’d stared at each other for at least a minute, but the swimming of the room had made him a little nauseous, and he had been exhausted (still was). So, without breaking eye contact, he reached up, pulled down his eye mask, put his feet up on his desk and fell asleep. 

It had been a dreamless sleep at least. He’d woken up hours later, and the idiot had been asleep in the chair. But he hadn’t left, and Kuzan had to give him that. He on the other hand, had seen his chance, and left out the window. 

That brought him to today. 

He hadn’t encountered Whitey yet today, though, he extended his haki out. Yep, Whitey was still in the office, sitting at his own desk. The guy really needed a hobby. 

_ Purupuru purupuru _

Kuzan cracked an eye open under his sleep mask. The sound came again and he lifted up his mask, glancing at the den den mushi on his desk. Someone was calling. He flicked his eyes over to the clock on the wall above him. 11 in the evening. He sat up on the couch as the snail went off again, lurching to his feet and crossing over to it. It was a standard issue snail, he hadn’t bothered to decorate it. What would he do anyway? Put a little afro like Sengoku on it? He sighed as he folded into his desk chair and picked up the receiver. 

“Yo,” he said, hoping his exhaustion would come through clearly so the caller would make it quick. “Kuzan,” came a familiar voice and his eyebrows went up in surprise. “Zephyr-sensei, it has been a while,” he settled a little more comfortably in his chair. The snail grinned, mimicking his mentor’s smile but without Zephyr’s features it was a weird caricature. “Heard you got a new second-in-command,” he was entirely too cheerful about it. It had only been a little over a week, which meant either there was something newsworthy about the transfer or…”You placed him here?” Kuzan placed his chin on his hand, leaning his elbow on the desk. Zephyr chuckled. Kuzan glared blandly at the snail. “You like him so far?” 

Kuzan thought about it. The simple answer was no, but that wasn’t the full answer. He barely knew the guy, but so far he seemed way too uptight, but… he recalled seeing the way he fought outside the bar, and that he’d stuck to his guns about not leaving until Kuzan did the damn paperwork. That was something. 

“...Reminds me of Sakazuki,” Kuzan grunted. The line went oddly quiet, and Kuzan tilted his head at the snail. “...He’s not as much like Sakazuki as you think,” Zephyr said quietly. Kuzan eyed the snail. It was no secret that Zephyr had stopped taking students after, well, after Ohara. 

For him to take on another one…

Kuzan grunted in response. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m calling about,” Zephyr continued after a few moments. “Figured, what’s so important that you’re calling so late?” He didn’t comment that Zephyr knew that he would be in the office at this time of night. The snail sighed, the kind of sigh that preluded something Kuzan simply did not want to hear. “I’m telling you now, I’m retiring,” he said plainly. 

Kuzan’s eyebrows went up. “Retiring?” he said in surprise. He always assumed Zephyr would work till he died. “Well, retiring from my Admiral duties, I’m going to be doing something else for a while.” Kuzan relaxed a little. That sounded more like his sensei. “I’ve submitted you as my recommendation for my replacement,” he continued. Kuzan stiffened.

“No,” he said. Zephyr sighed, heavily. “Listen, Kuzan-” 

“I said no,” he growled, his voice suddenly icy. The snail closed its eyes and then reopened them. “Just consider it, it would be good to have someone to balance with Sakazuki and Borsalino.” Kuzan glared at the snail. They lapsed into quiet, before Zephyr sighed. “Just do me a favor, for old times sake,” Zephyr muttered. Kuzan sighed this time, “What is it...Sensei?”

The snail grinned weirdly again. “Don’t take my bad news out on Smoker...and lay off the Jerez a little.” So he had been in contact with Ericsson. Figures. He’d served with Zephyr before Kuzan. “That’s two things, Sensei,” Kuzan grunted. 

The snail chuckled. “I’m aware,” his mentor responded and then hung up. Kuzan pursed his lips, putting the receiver down before leaning back in his chair. He stayed there for a few minutes, turning to look out at the dark ocean beyond his window. 

He sighed and got up from his chair. It was a short walk to Whitey’s office, the rest of the floor was so silent, his footsteps echoed off the desks. The door was open, and Kuzan peeked in, only to raise an eyebrow in curiosity. There were papers everywhere, a large number of them spread across the guy’s desk. In comparison, Kuzan had far less paperwork. But what actually made him feel a twinge of guilt right in his solar plexus was that Whitey was passed out on his desk, likely fallen asleep in the middle of doing said paperwork. On a Friday night. The office had the air of someone who had not left it in far too long too. He probably hadn’t left since yesterday, really stuck to his guns. 

Kuzan rubbed the back of his neck. 

\---

Something was touching him. Or...Smoker blinked his eyes open rapidly. They were stinging from lack of sleep, and his neck felt stiff. Shit, he’d passed out on his desk. He shook his head a few times, his office coming into focus around him and-

Oh hell no. His asshole “Commanding” Officer was standing on the other side of his desk, looking down at him. He sat up straight and glared, the tiredness draining from him quickly, replaced with irritation. 

“Go home,” he said. There was an undertone of...awkwardness to his voice? Whatever it was, it was weird, and like hell was he going home! “I told you, I’m not leaving until-” “Yeah yeah, I got it,” the Asshole muttered before tapping a neat pile of papers on his desk. Actually, his desk had a lot less papers on it. A lot less, and piled up neatly too. He stared for a moment before looking back up into his superior’s face. 

He was rubbing the back of his neck, and then he sighed. “I um, uh…” he trailed off, his eyes flicking to the floor before coming back to Smoker’s face. “...I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he muttered. Smoker gave him a look. This week had been hell. He hadn’t had this much trouble since his first fucking week at bootcamp, and he’d had Hina then. 

His Commander had the self awareness to look a little abashed. Smoker said nothing. He made a noise of exasperation, and sighed, bringing his hand down. “Look, can we start over?” Smoker raised an eyebrow slowly as his commanding officer held out his hand towards him. “Hi, welcome to G-9, I’m Vice Admiral Kuzan,” there was a small apologetic smile on his face. 

This was the dorkiest shit he’d ever seen but...he glanced back down at his far neater desk, then back up into his commander’s face. “Smoker,” he said as he shook Kuzan’s hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been so long since I updated! I am so sorry! I have been working on this story, I swear. Just...a lot of other stuff popped into my head and wouldn't let me be. Next chapter starts some underlying plot stuff. I had a blast writing this chapter. Kuzan is such a mess of a person at the moment. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter @buggyisbest


	3. Nothing like a Drink over Shared Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A noble comes to visit and Smoker and Kuzan try to be nice to one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A single line break = passage of time  
> A double line break = change of POV

Smoker wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to wipe both the mist and sweat out of his eyes. Fog swirled overhead, the sky gray in the early morning light as he ran along the shore below the G-9 Base. The tide was out, revealing tide pools and rocks. The occasional waterbird combed the beach for food, not caring at all as Smoker ran by. It was nice, this path. Quiet. He hadn’t seen a single soul for the past hour, in comparison with the city, where people worked the port at all hours. 

The shore curved around a bluff, the cliff face soaring high above, disappearing into the fog. He came to a stop, as the beach came to an end with steep zigzagging stairs leading up the cliffside towards the Navy Base. The air was cool and damp as it entered his lungs, the briny smell of the sea almost making his eyes water. From this point, he had a clear view straight out across the ocean, though with the fog it just looked like a wall of gray. Distantly, he could hear the sound of a ship horn. He turned his head, looking up the cliff face. At the top, sat the G-9, the combination lighthouse/watchtower perched at the very edge. He could just make out the tower through the fog.

His eyes drifted to the swirls and eddies of the fog itself. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to relax and concentrate at the same time. After a moment, Smoker felt a peculiar feeling in his legs, like he was both there and not there. He cracked his eyes open and looked down, a swooping feeling filling his stomach. Below his knees was nothing but smoke, which was what he wanted. He grinned, looking up towards the mist again, willing himself to move. 

Smoker stayed where he was, his smoke legs not cooperating. He frowned, concentrating. Nothing. Irritation prickled across his skin. It had been like this for over a month, since he’d gotten his damned fruit. He’d been able to turn small parts of himself to smoke, but then nothing. 

With a sigh, he closed his eyes again, concentrating once more, trying to turn his legs back to normal. He imagined his legs being...well, legs, but nothing happened. He opened his eyes and glared down, then took a breath and tried again. Nothing, though now he was drifting slightly to the left. Godammit!

A bird squawked loudly as it flew overhead, startling him. Instantly his legs turned back to normal but he was off balance, and with a shocked gasp, he fell backward onto the sand with a painful thump. Smoker stared up at the fog above, shifting and swirling, like it was mocking him. With an aggravated sigh, he climbed to his feet and began the long trek up the cliffside stairs towards base.

It was about an hour later that Smoker made his way towards the office. The base was still pretty empty at 8 in the morning much to his continued annoyance, but he was determined to change that. Somehow. His commanding officer’s face popped into his head. It had been two days since Kuzan had tried to...bury the hatchet? Reconcile? Make a truce? Calling it a truce seemed to best fit their last conversation. 

He hadn’t seen him since then, as he’d avoided the office over the weekend, opting instead to sleep and wander the city a little bit. Magnus was pretty, reminded him of Loguetown though with a lot more greenery. Vensai was another story. The poorer half of the city was like a different world. Stone and brick buildings were few and far between, surrounded by wooden shanties and agglomerations of wood and metal shacks. Where Magnus had wide cobbled streets, Vensai had narrow alleys and dirt crossings. 

The food, however, was far superior in Vensai. He’d found a good noodle place yesterday, and nobody had given him a second glance. The average citizen of Magnus seemed to find him interesting to stare at in comparison. It had been nice to have a couple days off, being part of the permanent base crew did have its perks, he got an actual weekend. But now it was Monday once more, the start of Smoker’s second week.

As Smoker approached the front doors to the largest central building, he began listing off the things he needed to do this week. Get through the backlog of budget requests, dig up the current patrol schedule, make a new patrol schedule, start on the backlog of maintenance requests, and then finally, start on the big pile of crime reports. The interesting stuff.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that he didn’t notice the hand that was reaching for the door handle at the same time as his until they bumped slightly, snapping him back to the present. Smoker yanked his hand back quickly before turning to look at who he’d bumped into and stiffened. 

Kuzan. Of course it was. 

It occurred to Smoker that this was the earliest he had ever seen the guy be in the office, or even awake for that matter. Smoker stared, by the look on his face, Kuzan seemed as surprised as he was to see him up this early. His eyes had dark circles, there was a pinched look to his eyebrows and mouth, and his hair was curlier and frizzier than he’d ever seen it. “Uhh...you gonna get that or…?” Kuzan gestured at the door. Smoker blinked, then looked away hastily, grabbing for the handle and pulling the door open forcefully.

Kuzan yawned as he passed him, inclining his head slightly in Smoker’s direction in thanks. Smoker followed after him as the door shut, their footsteps echoing off the walls of the airy entry hall of the impressive central building. Stairs for each floor to the east and west wings climbed the sides of the room, a massive painted marine symbol sat on the far wall, windows overlooking the main courtyard below it. A few chairs and tables sat in the big hall, meant for guests Smoker supposed, though he had yet to see anyone use them.

The two of them worked on the third floor in the East Wing, their footsteps on the stairs too loud in the empty space, Kuzan taking one long stride for every two of Smoker’s. He eyed Kuzan, taking in his somewhat haggard appearance, though he was wearing his Vice Admiral cloak, which wasn’t something Smoker had seen him wear before. 

They reached their landing and Kuzan pushed open the door to their office floor, holding it open for Smoker. As the door closed behind them, Kuzan glanced over his shoulder, meeting Smoker’s eyes. “Meet me in my office in twenty,” he said, splitting off from Smoker and heading for the coffee machine in the breakroom. Smoker nodded, and quirked an eye at his back before walking into his own office. 

His desk looked exactly as he’d left it on Friday. Neat piles of papers that needed to be filed and sent to different departments, payroll sign off sheets, and lots and lots of backlogged maintenance requests. He sighed, boring as hell shit, but if he could get through it, then he’d be able to focus on the actual important parts of his job. Tracking and dealing with pirates. 

He tilted his head up as he heard Kuzan curse down the hall, the smell of burning coffee drifting across the entire floor and shook his head. Despite his commanding officer’s attempt to clear the air between them last week, Smoker was pretty sure the guy was, if nothing else, a fucking idiot.

Exactly twenty minutes later, Smoker rapped his knuckles on Kuzan’s office door before stepping in. The room reeked strongly of burnt coffee, the smell making the corners of his mouth turn down. Kuzan was seated behind his desk, the cup of coffee in front of him as well as a map and some reports. He looked over at Smoker and gestured at the chair in front of his desk. 

Smoker sat down, crossing his arms. So far, Kuzan hadn’t done anything...aggravating, but after last week, he had good reason to be suspicious. “So, uhhh, it’s Monday and we’ve got a noble uhh… shit what’s the word?” Kuzan stared at him, like he was hoping Smoker had an answer. Smoker slowly raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what he was talking about. 

Kuzan stared back at him. “You… ah Ensign Rajahk, must have put the notification directly in my inbox then,” Kuzan muttered under his breath, but definitely loud enough for Smoker to hear. Smoker pursed his lips, irritation flaring under his skin. Kuzan was supposed to receive most of his reports from him, which meant some of the soldiers were bypassing Smoker entirely.

“Anyway, like I was saying, there’s…” Kuzan lifted the cup of coffee to his lips and took a sip. Then immediately gagged which honestly wasn’t surprising based on how burnt the coffee smelled. “God, ugh,” he held up his hand, gesturing for him to wait a moment, as he placed the coffee cup back down and rummaged in one of his desk drawers. Kuzan smiled triumphantly as he pulled out a bottle of sherry.

Smoker’s mouth dropped open. 

He popped the bottle open and started pouring the alcohol into his cup of coffee. “Are you serious?!” Smoker spluttered. It was eight in the morning! Kuzan looked up at him and blinked then tilted the bottle back upright. “Ah, you’re right, nothing will probably save that. Good call Captain,” he tapped his finger against his temple, pushed the cup of now alcoholic burnt coffee away from him, and took a drink directly from the bottle instead. 

Smoker’s eye twitched. Yeah, no, the truce was not going to work out. How the fuck was this IDIOT in charge of a Navy Base?! “It’s eight in the morning! You’re drinking on the job at eight in the morning! And you call yourself a marine?!” Smoker hissed. Kuzan placed the bottle down, eyeing Smoker. “You’ve got some nerve to say that to your superior officer,” he said dryly. Smoker glared at him. “I don’t give a shit, you’re a marine and you should act like it!” 

The temperature in the room dropped precipitously, Kuzan suddenly staring at Smoker with a near frightening intensity. But there was no way in hell Smoker was going to back down. He glared back, and then just as suddenly as it had appeared, the look in the Vice Admiral’s eyes vanished, replaced with a smile. What was with this guy?! 

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Smoker narrowed his eyes about to tell him that he was the pot calling the kettle black when Kuzan continued on “Anyway, as I was saying, we’ve got a noble docking in an hour,” he yawned again, and placed the bottle of alcohol back into his desk drawer.

Smoker stared at him, feeling like he got whiplash from the sudden change in conversation. Wait. Did he just say a noble was visiting the island?! “In an hour?!” Smoker snarled. Why the fuck had no one told him?! “Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll chew out Ensign Rajahk about not informing you,” Kuzan stated simply. “Anyway, here’s what I need from you,” he began, picking up one of the papers on his desk and passing it over.

Smoker was beginning to abhor Mondays.

* * *

The main port of Magnus was busy with morning traffic, unhindered by the fog. Men rushed from ship to ship, loading and unloading goods, while passengers both boarded and disembarked. Seagulls dove in and out of the fog, looking for any opportunities to snatch unguarded breakfasts. 

The visiting nobleman, one Argus Descepia III’s ship was, to sum it up in one word, ostentatious. Brightly colored and enormous, covered in finely carved and crafted images of mermaids and beautiful women, the figurehead itself was a woman with a narwhal horn, the horn likely real ivory. Smoker raised an eyebrow at it as he stood on the dock, waiting for the ship to finish anchoring. He glanced around at the perimeter his men had set up to keep people back and almost wondered if it was necessary, but...as he looked up at the ship, that kind of wealth being unloaded attracted far too much attention.

His eyes flicked to Kuzan, irritation making his eye twitch. He was flopped on top of a massive wooden crate, arms behind his head, sleeping mask over his eyes, mouth wide open and snoring. Seriously, what was with this guy? Smoker didn’t understand him. How could the guy who asked him if they could start over and did a large amount of his paperwork, and the guy who drinks at 8AM and passes out on a busy dock while on duty be the same person? How did someone like this even get to be a Vice Admiral?! 

As he was staring, Kuzan shifted, lifting up his sleeping mask, his dark eyes suddenly meeting Smoker’s own before he yawned, and hopped off the crate, stretching his arms above his head before calling over his shoulder, “Oi, Captain Smoker, let’s talk strategy or whatever.” 

Smoker raised an eyebrow but walked over to him. Kuzan eyed the ridiculous ship, his gaze lingering on the figurehead. “Alright, listen, I’ve dealt with this guy before. He’s...something. It’s likely he’ll demand an escort, so uhh, you think you’re up for it?” An escort job? Better than boring ass paperwork, and he wouldn’t have to be around Kuzan and his... the idiot turned to look at him, an unfamiliar friendliness to his dead eyed stare...puzzling nature.

“Yeah I’ve got it,” Smoker muttered. “Good, because I really need a nap,” Kuzan rubbed the back of his head. “You were just asleep, and it’s 9 in the morning!” he glared. “Yeah, yeah, chill out,” Kuzan grumbled. There wasn’t any malice in his tone. Smoker looked at him for another moment before wincing as the noble’s ship, the Kestrel, blasted a horn, apparently feeling the need to announce their official docking. “Man, what a pain,” Kuzan murmured, eying the gangplank as it was lowered. Smoker didn’t disagree.

As the gangplank reached the dock and was settled into place, Kuzan moved to stand off to the side of it, Smoker following, his eyes flicking over the gathering crowd of interested onlookers. The exact kind of thing they wanted to avoid, but apparently this noble wouldn’t have anything other than a full contingent to greet him at his arrival. Almost as bad as a Celestial Dragon. The first people off the ship were apparently the noble’s private guards, men in black suits with black hats. Smoker raised an eyebrow at them as they stood guard inside the Marine’s perimeter circle. Was all this really necessary? 

He glanced at Kuzan, who was watching the security guards apathetically. A large shadow suddenly loomed over the wooden walkway and Smoker looked back up toward the ship. A short and squat man with oddly long fingers and a ridiculous outfit with a stunning green haired woman on his arm began to walk down the gangplank. The shadow he cast appeared to be made mostly by the elaborate and absurd headdress he wore. It towered above the man’s head in an arc, and was covered in gold and jewels. The ship definitely matched its owner.

As the nobleman set foot on the weathered concrete of the port, he made a face of distaste, then looked left and right, before his eyes fell on Kuzan, recognition lighting up in their beady depths. “Ah! Kuzan! Approach!” he screeched as if the commander of the G-9 Navy Base were a dog. Smoker had to bite down on the inside of his lower lip to keep his mouth from falling open though, this guy’s voice was unreal. How could anyone be that high pitched and nasally?! 

Kuzan blinked slowly and looked around, almost as if he was searching for someone, then shrugged and yawned. Smoker glanced at his commanding officer. What was he doing? 

“Kuzan!” Argus Descepia III squawked, the disdain clear in his voice. Smoker’s eye twitched in annoyance. He couldn’t blame Kuzan for not answering to such an asshole. The man in question yawned and rubbed his neck, looking bored. The noble’s face was turning red as he turned towards them fully, ripping his arm out of his wife’s grip and placing his hands on his hips. Smoker noted the wrinkles on his face looked as if he was always smelling something foul.

“KUZAN!” he absolutely shrieked. The sound was awful, like nails on a chalkboard. The craving for a nicotine hit washed over him. Kuzan was now looking up, watching a seagull fly overhead, ignoring the man screeching at him. Smoker eyed him, but noted that none of their men looked surprised. A few of them were hiding grins. Smoker looked back at the noble, as the man stomped his feet on the ground like a child and then snarled “Vice. Admiral. Kuzan!” in what Smoker assumed was supposed to sound like a threatening hiss, but sounded more like someone on helium. 

This time however, Kuzan blinked and looked directly at the small man. “Arara, Mr. Descepia!” he said brightly, stepping forward, motioning for Smoker to follow him. Descepia’s face was red with fury as he glared up at Kuzan and Smoker side-eyed his superior from behind his sunglasses. Only answering a noble when he was addressed with his title? Ballsy, Smoker would give him that.

As they reached the nobleman’s side, he glared up at them. He had to be a good two heads shorter than Smoker himself. “You WILL answer me when I call you! I have very time sensitive business to attend to, and you are not important enough for me to waste my PRECIOUS time on!” Descepia shrieked. The sound was worse in close quarters. Kuzan scratched the back of his head, and blinked, giving the noble a blank stare. “Huh?” Smoker bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking.

Descepia clenched his hand into a fist but then relaxed it a moment later. “Fool, I suppose I shouldn’t blame you for your idiocy, you’re not paid for your brains anyway,” he shook his head, before barking at one of his men. Smoker clenched his fist. Kuzan yawned. The short Noble spoke to one of his security guards and after a moment, the entourage began moving. Descepia turned to Kuzan, “I have VERY important business today, Johan will deal with you now,” and then waved him off dismissively. The security guard he ordered over turned to them as Descepia climbed into the carriage that had been offloaded and disappeared inside with his wife. 

“My lord has requested that you and your best men join his entourage as additional security,” Johan, a reedy man, built for speed with a reedy mustache, and an equally reedy voice stated blandly. Kuzan gave him an equally bland smile and then gestured to Smoker. “This is my second in command, Captain Smoker, coordinate with him, I’ve got stuff to do,” he gave a little half-assed salute and turned to leave. He looked at Kuzan, slack jawed. He was just going to leave him with this?! Smoker didn’t doubt that he could handle the security shit, but after that little power battle, there was no way in hell that puffed up Noble was going to let Smoker be.

“My LORD has specifically demanded YOUR presence on his entourage!” Johan barked. Kuzan turned his head all the way around, using his devil fruit powers. It was a queasy sight to see, and Johan flinched. “Has he?” and with that, Kuzan walked away, raising his hand in farewell, ignoring Johan’s spluttering snarls. Smoker watched him go, feeling the tiniest bit envious, irritated, and grudgingly, a little bit impressed. Johan immediately turned his furious gaze on Smoker and he sighed, reaching into his pocket for a cigar as the guy tore into him. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

* * *

Kuzan sighed as he stared at the reports of new pirate activity in their southern sector. A few towns had been torched and raided. Unit 03 was currently attempting to track down the pirates responsible but it was proving to be difficult. That wasn’t like Vice Admiral Gamakiji, he was one of the better guys at tracking down pirate crews. Curious. 

_ Purupurupuru _

He glanced up at the snail on his desk. It was asleep. He titled his head as the ring came again, down and off to his left, slightly muffled. His stomach sank as he turned slowly to look down towards his very bottom desk drawer. The sound came a third time, more insistent. Kuzan made a face as he pulled open the drawer and eyed the ringing snail with distaste. 

That was his direct line with King Jurgen Must VIII. He had never received a call bearing good news on this line. Maybe he could just not answer it? The transponder snail’s eyes met his, enormous fuzzy red eyebrows and mustache practically leaping off its face as it rang a fourth time. He felt a brief moment of sympathy for it. It hadn’t chosen this life. It hadn’t asked to be connected to a particularly exhausting aristocrat. The snail’s eyes got wider and watered slightly.

Dammit.

Kuzan closed his eyes and answered the call. “Vice Admiral Kuzan,” came the pointedly stilted voice of King Must’s secretary. “Yeah,” he leaned back in his chair. The snail eyed him, he eyed it back. “My Lord is requesting the Navy’s presence at Princess Amelie’s 16th birthday celebration next week, we expect your arrival tomorrow evening,” she continued. Oh god, that meant there would be a whole slew of visiting nobles and dignitaries. They would want a full contingent. An entire week of people like Descepia. 

Kuzan looked up at the ceiling, as if it could save him. He definitely should not have answered the call.

* * *

It was approaching 9pm by the time Kuzan heard the sound of boots stomping somewhere on the office floor. That would probably be Smoker coming by to report, and by the sound of it he was irritated as hell. Not that Kuzan could blame him. He reached under his desk and grabbed two glasses, setting them out on top as the footsteps got closer. 

The cigar smoke entered the room before Smoker did. He gave Kuzan a mild glare as he stepped into his office and took a seat on the couch instead of the chair in front of Kuzan’s desk. His eyebrows were pinched with annoyance, and a frown pulled the edges of his lips down. Actually, come to think of it, Kuzan wasn’t sure if he had ever seen the guy smile. “Any trouble?” Kuzan asked as he pulled open the drawer in his desk that contained his preferred brand of sherry.

“Other than a headache from all the yelling about how you disrespected him? No, no problems,” Smoker growled, crossing one leg over the other. “Sorry for the headache, I’m no good at ass kissing,” Kuzan gave him a shrug and pushed one of the short glasses towards him as he walked around to the other side of his desk and leaned against it, bottle in hand. With the way Smoker talked back to him, Kuzan figured that he wasn’t either. 

Smoker’s amber eyes followed his movements as Kuzan unscrewed the top, no doubt thinking of their little conversation this morning. It was after hours now though, a perfectly reasonable time for a drink, not that he cared what Smoker thought. “You’re gonna want this,” Kuzan stated, prompting Smoker to raise a white eyebrow at him. “We’re leaving for the capital tomorrow morning,” he said, pouring the alcohol into Smoker’s glass first, “and we’ll be there for a week on protection detail for all the visiting nobles and whatever during the Princess’s birthday celebration,” he finished pouring his own glass and set the bottle down. 

Smoker stared at him, then let out a long slow stream of smoke. “You’re wrong,” he muttered. “Oh?” Kuzan tilted his head at him, and held out the glass. “I’ll want something stronger,” he grumbled as he reached forward and took the glass from Kuzan’s hand. Kuzan grinned, so there was a sense of humor under all that grumpiness. Good to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a shared hatred of douchebags to bring people together am I right?
> 
> I finally got this out! I apologize for taking so long, I've got like...8 different OP related zines pieces I'm working on currently. But it's finally here! I thank you for your patience. Hopefully the next chapter won't take me as long.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter @buggyisbest!

**Author's Note:**

> So, that's how they meet. It could have gone better, but where is the fun in that? I made up the G-9, and the island and city they are in. I will be doing my best to stick to canon events.
> 
> Anyway, let me know your thoughts!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter @buggyisbest


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